


Allocation

by cazmalfoy



Series: Soul Allocation [1]
Category: CSI: Miami, CSI: NY
Genre: Afterlife, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazmalfoy/pseuds/cazmalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miami was an unfortunate clerical error.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allocation

"Some day you might need something with doors," Horatio commented as they stepped upto the front of the jewerly store.

Tim shrugged his shoulders. "I've got plently of time for that," he replied, entering the store with Horatio behind him.

Everything happened so fast. Horatio had been talking to Rudy, the store owner, and Tim heard something in the back.

Before he knew it a gun battle had started. He pulled out his own gun, took aim, fired and - nothing. His gun refused to co-operate with the trigger. He squeezed the trigger once more and this time he heard it, the click of the firing pin as it hit the bullet.

"Bastard," he growled under his breath, shaking his gun in an attempt to dislodge whatever was preventing the weapon from working.

Before he had chance to try the gun again he felt heat and pain tear through his shoulder and upper chest.

The force of the hit pushed him over on to his back. He gasped in pain as he clutched at the wound which was spilling blood everywhere.

He couldn't move from the pain. All he could do was lay there helplessly, staring up at the ceiling.

Horatio came into his view, pressing his hand against the wound and begging him to hold on. Telling him not to let go, to stay with him.

Tim wanted nothing more than to do what Horatio was saying, but as he slipped in and out of conciousness it was too hard to concentrate on Horatio's voice and the pain was becoming unbearable.

Eventually the darkness that was threatening to overwhelm him surrounded him, plunging him into darkness and drowning out Horatio's voice.

The next thing that Tim knew he surrounded by white light. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

What he saw when the light dimmed was definately not what he had been expecting.

Instead of the pearly gates (or perhaps even the firey gates of hell) he was in an office with a young bespecaled woman typing away at a computer.

The woman looked up at him over his glasses. "Yes?" she asked.

"Where the hell am I?" Tim demanded.

The woman remained silently, pointing to a sign above a nearby door. "'Soul allocation'?" Tim read aloud.

"Name," the woman said.

Tim looked at her for a moment before answering her. "Timothy Speedle," he replied, still unsure about what was going on.

The woman typed his name into the computer and frowned as she looked at the screen. Tim watched as her eyes widened and she grabbed the phone that was on her desk.

"Boss," he listened to her say into the phone, "Timothy Speedle's here to see you." The woman replaced the reciever and turned back to Tim. "Someone will be out to see you in a moment."

Tim, whose head was spinning, nodded his head and sat down heavily on the sofa.

Tim had been sat down for barely five minutes when a door opened. "Mr Speedle," a young man greeted, stepping out of the door. "I'm Jason Jones," he introduced himself. "Apologies for the delay. If you'll please follow me, we'll get everything sorted."

Tim frowned in confusion but followed him nevertheless.

"Please take him a seat," Jason offered, indicating to a chair on one side of the desk. "Before we get started," Jason was the first to speak, "I assume you have some questions?"

Tim nodded his head. "What's going on? The last thing I remember is," he paused, "the jewelery store."

He looked down at his shirt, which was the same as he had been wearing earlier; except there wasn't a drop of blood anywhere.

Jason flinched. "Yes," he sighed, "I'm sorry about that. Miami was an unfortunate clerical error."

Tim blinked. "E-Excuse me? Clerical error?"

Jason smiled apologetically. "We had a trainee who transferred from a differen department. There was mix up with the allocating of about seventy souls that week. And, unfortunately, once a soul has been allocated it is extremly difficult to re-allocate them." Tim looked at him questioningly. "There's a lot of paperwork involved and we have to get it authorised by our boss," Jason explained, getting to his feet and walking over to a filing cabinet.

"God?" Tim couldn't stop himself from asking.

Jason chuckled as he pulled a file out and closed the drawer. "That's what everyone asks. No God is not my boss. Now," he continued, sitting down at his desk once more and opening the file, "we have to get you where you should be have been originally. Are you interested in claiming compensation for the error in your previous allocation?"

"What?" Tim questioned. "No," he replied, even though he had no clue what he was disagreeing to.

"Oh, good," Jason said, screwing one peice of paper up and placing it on the desk. 

Tim watched as the crumpled up paper caught fire and disintergrated. He was about to point out the fire to Jason when it went out. To Tim's surprise there wasn't even any scorch marks on the desk.

Jason was busy writing something on the paper infront of him. "There," he said triumphantly a few moments later. "Everything is in order now Mr Speedle. If you'd just sign here, we'll get you where you need to be and you don't have to worry about your past anymore."

Tim signed the paper automatically but then instantly regretted it. "What have I just signed?" he asked nervously, handing the pen back to Jason.

"Just a disclaimer that says Soul Allocation cannot be held responsible for any accidents, non-fatal or otherwise, that happen during your allocation," Jason shrugged dismissively. Jason got to his feet. "It was nice to meet you Mr Speedle," he said, extending his hand across the desk towards Tim, "I hope you have a good life and I'll see you in sixty or seventy years."

~

A loud noise coming from somewhere to Tim's left woke him up. Tim sat up with a start. A post-it note was stuck to his forehead. He pulled it off with a scowl and stuck it back on the report that was in front of him.

He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep at his desk again. He really needed to go home, get changed and then he knew that he'd feel ready to process the evidence once more.

Tim frowned as he looked around the lab he was in. He paused when saw that he wasn't actually in the lab. "What the hell?" he whispered to himself. "Where am I?"

There was a large bookcase on the wall, stacked full of thick textbooks. The computer on the desk was turned on and open to an email account. There was a name plate on the desk. Tim picked it up and read  _Timothy Speedle._ He frowned. It was his office? What happened to the lab?

Then everything came flooding back to him. Miami. The shooting. Soul Allocation. Jason Jones.

Tim jumped up from his chair, grabbed the jacket that was on the back of the chair and practically ran out of the room.

"Mr Speedle," a doorman greeted him as he arrived the lobby of what Tim mused was a very fancy building. "You're late in leaving tonight. Busy on a big case, eh?" Tim nodded his head. He had no idea what the man was talking about. "I'll call you a cab," the doorman said, opening the door and allowing Tim to tep out into the street.

The instant Tim exited the building he knew he wasn't in Miami any more. Everything about where he was screamed Manhattan. Evetnually a cab pulled up and the doorman opened the door, allowing Tim to step inside. Tim remained silent, still trying to figure everything out as the doorman gave the cab driver an address that Tim knew was a few blocks away from Park Avenue. It was part of Manhattan that was primarily where the rich and celebritires lived.

When the cab pulled up in front of  _Park Plaza_  Tim reached into his pocket to pay the driver. But the driver saw Tim's action and shook his head, teling him that he'd put it on Tim's account.

This building had a doorman on it as well. A doorman who grinned when he saw Tim step out onto the pavement. "Welcome home, Mr Speedle," the man greeted, opening the door and allowing Tim to step inside.

If Tim thought that the previous building's lobby had been impressive, it was nothing compared to this one. His boots echoed on the marble floor as he walked towards the elevator. Before he got close enough to press the call button the doors opened and a young man and woman stepped out.

"Evening, Mr Speedle," a teenager greeted from inside the elevator. He was wearing the same uniform as the doorman, so Tim assumed that he worked in the building. A theory which was strengthened when Tim stepped into the elevator and the kid pressed the top button; a button which would take them to the penthouse.

The ride to the top floor was silent and Tim spent the time trying to get his head around what was going on. Unfortunately the more he tried to think it through, the more confused he found himself becoming.

"Have a nice night, Mr Speedle," the boy said as Tim stepped out into a foyer.

The hardwood floor beneath his feet was covered with a blood red rug. The walls were decorated in a similar colour, clearly the rug had been the inspiration for the decorations in the room.

The apartment - penthouse, Tim corrected mentally - was empty as Tim stepped into a lavishly decorated sitting room. Tim headed across the room and into a bedroom. As soon as he stepped foot across the threshhold he paused and stared at the room in awe. Actually it was the bed that was shocking him more than anything else. It was huge, at least king size - if not bigger. The four posts stretched up to where a bar met it, allowing thin white fabric to hang down from it.

Tim jumped in surprise when he felt hands slide around his waist. "You're home late," a voice whispered in his ear as a kiss was placed on his neck. A voice which was definately male.

Tim jerked away and turned to face the newcomer. Tim had never seen him before in his life. He was shorter than Tim by maybe an inch, his blue eyes were looking at Tim in concern from behind wired glasses.

"Are you okay?" the new comer asked.

Tim nodded his head. He had no idea who this guy was but obviously they were more than just friends.

The other man clearly didn't believe him. "Whatever," he muttered. "The cook had to go home early. Something about her kid being ill, I dunno. I don't speak spanish. I'm going to call a pizza," the guy sighed, turning on his heel and heading out of the room.

Tim crossed the bedroom and sat down heavily on the bed. There was a wallet lying on the bedside table. He knew it wasn't his because he could feel his in his back pocket. Tim picked it up and pulled out a drivers licence. The picture on the licence was definately the other man who very clearly knew Tim.

The name on the licence was Daniel Messer. Danny Messer. Tim paused, trying to remember why that named sounded familar. Then it hit him. They had spoke when Tim had been in Miami, working with...

Tim tried and tried to remember the name of who he had been working with but he couldn't remember the name, or even what the person looked like.

Tim had no clue what was going on but the more he was here, in this penthouse, the more he began to forget about Miami and what had happened. Tim wondered if it was what Jason had meant by getting him where he should have been in the first place. In New York, with Danny, a very succesful lawyer if the office and penthouse were anything to go by.

"What are you doing?" the other man, Danny, asked from behind Tim.

Tim turned around and looked at him. Suddenly everything came flooding back to him. Like when waking from a deep sleep and being disorientated. Tim could remember everything; loving touches; fights; making up after said fights; loving whispers; everything.

"Tim?" Danny asked stepping further into the room.

Tim shook his head before grinning at Danny. "This picture is awful," he said, holding up Danny's drivers licence.

Danny blushed lightly and glared at him. "It's not awful," he retorted, snatching the licence off of him. He flinched as he looked at the picture. "Okay," he admitted, "it is pretty bad," he added, tossing the licence onto the beside table. "Are you okay?" he asked queitly. "You seemed different earlier. Like you didn't know who I was."

Tim could see the hurt in Danny's blue eyes and immediately hating himself for causing that look. "I'm fine," he whispered. "Just had a bad day at the office."

Danny nodded his head in understanding. "As long as you're okay," he whispered.

"With you here, I'm more than okay," Tim grinned, grabbing Danny's hand and pulling him down on top of him.

Danny smiled and kissed Tim softly. "You sure?" he asked.

Tim grinned and ran his hand through Danny's bleached blond hair. "Yeah," he whispered, kissing Danny passionately.

As Danny's hands ran up underneath Tim's shirt, Tim found himself forgetting all about Miami and Soul Allocation.


End file.
